Revelations
by GiorgiaKerr
Summary: He couldn't believe he'd never noticed it before. - BB oneshot.
1. Chapter 1

**Spoilers:** Oh my. This is my _fiftieth story_! I do believe that my friends and I are making cupcakes. So one for everyone who reviews! Or has ever reviewed one of my stories. Ever.

**Disclaimer:** I love you all.

**Author's Note:** Dear God. It feels like forever since I've published a _Bones_ fic. Heck, forever since I've posted anything. More, though, it feels like forever since I've _written _anything, and that makes me rather sad. But. The show must go on, and I hope beyond hope that you all enjoy this. I hope it's not too terrible, too. It's one-thirty in the morning, and I'm just about to fall asleep on my keyboard. And I have a Biology test tomorrow. Fantastic.

But reviews will make my life happier!

* * *

He couldn't believe that he had never seen it before.

Not once before this moment had the thought even occurred to him. It was blatantly obvious, if he thought about it now.

All this time, Booth had held himself in check by telling himself that _she_ was the oblivious one, that _she_ was the one who hadn't figured things out.

And all this time, he'd been wrong. It hadn't been her at all. She'd known. She'd been perfectly aware, absolutely conscious, and he hadn't realised. One thing he knew now was that she was a much better liar than he had ever given her credit for.

Maybe _liar_ was too harsh a word – perhaps _performer_ was better, even _actress_ would have worked.

_In denial_, his more cynical mind piped in.

But he didn't want it to be denial, because denial meant that she didn't want the feelings. That she couldn't handle the feelings; thought things would be easier without them. It didn't matter whether or not things would really have been simpler; for once in his life it was the theory that was important.

The beginning of their partnership had been mostly his own attraction. He had lusted after her, really, and that hadn't made things easy. But in the beginning, she hadn't been attracted to _him_. He knew that. Knew that he hadn't been a challenge for her, wasn't something to conquer or to solve; he was neither complex enough nor simple enough for her.

He'd seen it almost as an insult at first – she had been the first woman to turn him down since Rebecca, but marriage was an entirely different thing. But after a while he'd started to see it as a challenge. How far could he push the boundaries before she realised? Before she kissed him, or hit him, or shot him?

It had taken him a while to figure out just how stupid that really was. Because in the beginning, they hadn't needed excuses, and now that was all they seemed to have.

She'd slowly started to like him, though – to value him, perhaps even to trust him – and his own attraction had changed with that. Had sort of mutated into mutual respect, mutual friendliness; partnership. He'd started to see her as more than a scientist just as she'd started to see him as more than biology.

And it had been good.

Finding her father had been a feat. Not in the literal sense – he'd found _them_, really – but in the emotional sense. And he felt like a teenage girl for thinking it, but he couldn't help it. He'd known from that one moment in McVicar's barn that she needed him. More than she knew, more than either of them had ever realised. But it had never, in his head, translated to anything more.

Looking back now, though, the first thing that really should have tipped him off– alarm bells and glaring lights, tipped him off – was Cam.

She'd shown up and taken the job that Brennan had assumed was rightfully hers. And while he'd agreed with Brennan on some level – the level of respect and professionalism – he'd been relieved to know that she was remaining in the field, with him.

But he knew now that her jealousy of Cam hadn't, in fact, been one of professionalism. At least, not entirely. She had been jealous of him; jealous of Cam having had him. Angela had told him about Brennan's reaction to finding out about their past relationship, and at the time, he had thought that it was because she didn't condone relationships with coworkers.

Ironic, really, that his Line was a hell of a lot closer to the mark than he'd thought.

The Line was originally drawn for himself, not for Brennan, because he'd never expected that she needed it. That look in her eyes when he'd drawn it, though… What he'd thought was sympathy had really been empathy; knowing, rather than understanding.

There were some things that he just couldn't believe he'd missed – they seemed so obvious, now.

The way she looked at him, sometimes, was so similar to the way he looked at her – tried _not_ to look at her. That smile she gave him and only him: the coy, almost flirty smile that told him that she knew something. Only now, he knew what that something was.

She may not love him; but she wanted to.

And that was more than enough.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Spoilers:** Written mostly because Brennan's mind befuddles my own meager one. Review?

**Disclaimer: **Eh. Anyone know the name of the bar that they go to, now? I really don't see what was wrong with Wong Foo's and the diner, though...

**Author's Note:** I love having friends who can drive! (That means you, Ben, even though you won't read this. Love you to death!) Anywho. Partially for **BlueTigress**, who requested Brennan's thoughts on the same matter as Booth's. And partially because I started writing it and went, "Hey, this'd work as a second chapter."

* * *

Brennan hated rationalising.

Well, that wasn't the whole truth. She hated _having_ to rationalise. She hated that every emotion she felt was filtered and compartmentalised to the point that made her wonder if she was actually capable of feeling anything.

All her teenage life had been spent shoving feelings to the back of her mind not because she was in too much pain, but because the pain made her doubt herself in circles.

She would feel the pain, allow herself the indulgence, then chastise herself for being melodramatic. She'd made excuses for it, telling herself that she was just tired, just hormonal, just anything but legitimately hurt. And she never truly knew whether that was truth; whether she had the right to be upset or not.

It was like circular logic, only contradictory. Brennan still didn't know whether there was a term for that. She supposed it was simply _contradiction_ in the definitional sense: _One cannot say of something that it is and that it is not in the same respect and at the same time._

Not that it mattered.

Defining her thought processes only really added to the problem.

The self doubt had soon turned into impulse, though, and it was rather funny that the root of all this was not, in fact, compartmentalisation by necessity. Her ability – or perhaps instinct – to compartmentalise was the effect, not the cause of her problems.

And she knew she had a few of them.

She'd been pretty good at ignoring them, too, before she had met Booth: the man who was currently sitting at the bar next to her, sipping his drink silently, remnants of a smile from their earlier conversation still touching the corners of his lips.

And she loved that she could incite that, that she could not only make him laugh, but make him _smile_. Their whole relationship, from the very beginning, had been unlike any other she'd ever had. If she were honest, she would admit that in the beginning, she had wanted him.

The first time they had worked together, before they had become partners, she had been attracted to him in a purely sexual sense. She'd ignored it professionally – they were working on a case, after all – and each time he made a comment, she'd allowed her dislike of him to overtake the need of attraction.

Then she'd begun to learn how he worked, perhaps appreciate it, and the results had been incredible. Their closure rate was higher than that of almost any other department, of almost any other partnership.

No chance for _what ifs, _anymore, and it didn't matter that they could have been fantastic together. They worked together, and that was the reality;for once in her life, the theory didn't matter.

So she had made it clear that it couldn't happen. At least, she'd made it clear to herself, because just as she'd begun to realise how impossible things were, Booth had seemed to realise that they weren't. He'd pushed.

And she'd let him.

The real withdrawal had come with Cam's brush with death. Abrupt and defensive, and she'd known that it was pointless to argue with Booth because in that moment, she knew that whatever she felt for him, he felt for her. That line had been confirmation, and the confirmation had been a surprising comfort, had given her a place to begin and a place to end.

Between the two of them, they could be whatever they wanted to be: colleagues, partners, friends, family. But they could never be lovers. They could love each other – and she _knew_ that Booth loved her – but she wondered whether that was ever enough.

She didn't know if she _could_ love him, if she _should_, but she wanted to.

She felt Booth's hand on her shoulder and looked up from her drink. The traces of the smile still there, and she wondered how she'd missed something so obvious.

She smiled back and yes, it was enough.


End file.
